Snow
by The Ginger Midget
Summary: The sequal to Rain. It will be longer,and hopefully better. Chapter 1 posted. Rating will go up.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey hey! I'm the Ginger Midget. So, this is really my second piece on FanFiction. (My first on is _Rain_.) I'm still trying to get the hang of the process of uploading, so please bear with me. Anywhoooo, I hope you enjoy the first chapter of _Snow_.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of _Sherlock_. I do own the first season on DVD though. **

He liked snow. It could sustain a lot of evidence at a crime scene. Which he wasn't at. Because the criminal world obviously had no new talent whatsoever.

Sherlock Holmes stretched out the entire length of the couch, arched his head over the armrest, and raised his voice to the rafters: "BORED!"

Nothing happened.

He turned his head to the left. His cell phone was on the kitchen table. Well, he certainly wasn't going to get it.

"Mrs. Hudson!"

After 30 seconds, he sighed. "MS-IS HUD-SOOON!"

The landlady bustled up the stairs, muttering under her breath. She stopped in the doorframe. "What is it, Sherlock?"

"Cell phone."

"Get it yourself."

Sherlock sighed. It was so _annoying_ when people didn't do what he wanted. Weren't his needs important? "Don't make me start shooting at the wall again."

Mrs. Hudson took one look at the spray painted yellow smilely face on the wall and went to pick up the phone.

"I have to go out today Sherlock," she said as she handed him his phone. "So if you need anything else while I'm gone you'll need to get it yourself."

Sherlock grunted in response.

Mrs. Hudson turned and walked out. She wasn't worried. Not really. . .

Sherlock started to text.

To: John Watson 11:21 am

I. Am. Bored.

To: Sherlock Holmes

From: John Watson 11:22am

What am I supposed to do about it?

To: John Watson

From: Sherlock Holmes 11:23 am

I. Am. BORED.

To: Sherlock Holmes

From: John Watson 11:24 am

Go to St. Bart's and dissect a corpse or something.

To: John Watson

From: Sherlock Holmes 11:25 am

Molly doesn't have anything fresh. Besides, I've already done that.

To: Sherlock Holmes

From: John Watson 11:26

What? Dicet a corpse?

To: John Watson

From: Sherlock Holmes 11:27

Yes.

To: Sherlock Holmes

From: John Watson 11:30

What about your violin? You haven't played that in a while.

To: John Watson

From: Sherlock Holmes 11:31 am

Doing that would mean moving and I am incapable to do it.

To: Sherlock Holmes

From: John Watson 11:32 am

Why? What happened?

To: John Watson

From: Sherlock Holmes 11:33 am

Nothing.

To: Sherlock Holmes

From: John Watson 11:34 am

Then why won't you move?

To: John Watson

From: Sherlock Holmes 11:35 am

Because moving requires energy and a reason to do so, of which I have none of!

To: Sherlock Holmes

From: Mycroft Holmes 11:35 am

I have a case for you.

To: Mycroft Holmes

From: Sherlock Holmes 11:36 am

No.

To: Sherlock Holmes

From: Mycroft Holmes 11:36 am

Why not?

To: Sherlock Holmes

From: John Watson 11:37 am

Playing the violin is a reason.

To: John Watson

From: Sherlock Holmes 11:38 am

Not a good one.

To: Sherlock Holmes

From: Mycroft Holmes 11:38

Well?

To: Mycroft Holmes

From: Sherlock Holmes 11:39 am

No.

To: Sherlock Holmes

From: John Watson 11:40 am

Well, what's your idea of a good reason to move?

To: Sherlock Holmes

From: Mycroft Holmes 11:40 am

You're not busy.

To: Mycroft Holmes

From: Sherlock Holmes 11:41 am

Yes I am.

To: John Watson

From: Sherlock Holmes 11:41 am

Something different.

To: Sherlock Holmes

From: Mycroft Holmes 11:42 am

No, you're not. You only text consecutively when you have no work.

To: Mycroft Holmes

From: Sherlock Holmes 11:43 am

Fine. What's the case?

To: Sherlock Holmes

From: Mycroft Homes 11:43 am

I would rather not say over this form of communication.

To: Sherlock Holmes

From: John Watson 11:44 am

I could kill a man.

To: John Watson

From: Sherlock Holmes 11:45 am

You wouldn't.

To: Sherlock Holmes

From: John Watson 11:46 am

I could. Did. You know, in the war?

To: John Watson

From: Sherlock Holmes 11:47 am

Yes, but you won't kill someone for no reason.

To: Sherlock Holmes

From: John Watson 11:48 am

Which brings us back to why you won'ts move.

To: Sherlock Holmes

From: John Watson 11:48 am

You haven't moved, have you?

To: John Watson

From: Sherlock Holmes 11:49 am

Nope.

To: Sherlock Holmes

From: Mycroft Holmes

Well?

To: Mycroft Holmes

From: Sherlock Holmes 11:50 am

Nope.

To: Sherlock Holmes

From: Mycroft Holmes 11:51 am

Why not?

To: Sherlock Holmes

From: John Watson 11:52 am

You really should get out of your chair.

To: John Watson

From: Sherlock Holmes 11:53 am

Sofa.

To: Sherlock Holmes

From: John Watson 11:53 am

What?

To: Sherlock Holmes

From: Mycroft Holmes 11:54 am

You haven't answered me.

To: John Watson

From: Sherlock Holmes 11:55 am

I'm on the sofa.

To: Sherlock Holmes

From: John Watson 11:56 am

Oh.

To: Sherlock Holmes

From: Mycroft Holmes 11:57 am

Sherlock.

_You have 30 minutes of battery time left._

To: Sherlock Holmes

From: John Watson 11:58 am

So. . .

To: John Watson

From: Sherlock Holmes 11:58 am

So?

To: John Watson

From: Mycroft Holmes 11:59 am

You need to talk to Sherlock for me.

To: Mycroft Holmes

From: John Watson 12:00 pm

Why are you texting me?

To: John Watson

From: Mycroft Holmes 12:01 pm

Sore throat.

To: Mycroft Holmes

From: John Watson 12:02 pm

Have you been to a doctor?

To: John Watson

From: Mycroft Holmes 12:03 pm

Yes, John, I have.

To: Mycroft Holmes

From: John Watson 12:04 pm

What did he say?

To: John Watson

From: Mycroft Holmes 12:05 pm

The usuale. Anyway, you need to talk to Sherlock for me.

To: Mycroft Holmes

From: John Watson 12:06 pm

Why?

To: Mycroft Holmes

From: John Watson 12:07 pm

I have a case for him.

To: Mycroft Holmes

From: John Watson 12:08 pm

What is it?

To: John Watson

From: Mycroft Holmes 12:09 pm

I would rather not say.

To: Mycroft Holmes

From: John Watson 12:10 pm

I see.

To: Sherlock Holmes

From: John Watson 12:11 pm

Your brother's texting me.

To: John Watson

From: Sherlock Holmes 12:12 pm

I don't care.

To: Sherlock Holmes

From: John Watson 12:13 pm

He has a case for you.

To: John Watson

From: Sherlock Holmes 12:14 pm

No.

To: Mycroft Holmes

From: John Watson 12:15 pm

He says no.

To: John Watson

From: Mycroft Holmes 12:16 pm

Tell him I can get him arrested for taking body parts from St. Barts.

To: Sherlock Holmes

From: John Watson 12:17 pm

He says he can get you arrested for taking body parts from St. Barts.

To: John Watson

From: Sherlock Holmes 12:18 pm

No he can't.

To: Mycroft Holmes

From: John Watson 12:19 pm

He says you can't.

To: John Watson

From: Mycroft Holmes 12:20 pm

I'll be by later.

To: Mycroft Holmes

From: John Watson 12:21 pm

To: Sherlock Holmes

From: John Watson 12:22 pm

He stopped texting me.

To: John Watson

From: Sherlock Holmes 12:23 pm

Bored.

_You have 4 minutes of battery time left._

To: Sherlock Holmes

From: John Watson 12:24 pm

Go out and stalk someone.

To: John Watson

From: Sherlock Holmes 12:25 pm

Like Sarah?

To: Sherlock Holmes

From: John Watson 12:26 pm

No! Not her!

To: John Watson

From: Sherlock Holmes 12:27 pm

Then who-

_Battery died_

Sherlock dropped his cell phone onto his stomach. His charger was next to his laptop, which was across the room.

Well, he certainly wasn't going to get it.


	2. Chapter 2

Inspector Lestrade rarely went over to Sherlock's flat. Normally he would have called or texted the case information, but the blasted man wasn't answering his cell. He'd better have a good excuse.

Mrs. Hudson opened the door and let him in. "Sherlock's upstairs." She said. "He's been up there doing who-knows-what. I haven't heard any gun shots, but then again I just come back from the-."

"Yes, thank you Mrs. Hudson." Lestrade interrupted and started up the stairs. She talked too much. She needed to get a hobby, like knitting, or something.

He knocked on the door. When no one answered, he opened it himself.

At first, he thought the room was empty. Then John walked in from the kitchen.

"Hi Greg."

"Hello John. Is Holmes in? I have a case."

John brightened a little bit. "That's great! He's on the sofa."

Lestrade saw him now. Sherlock was lying on his side, facing the backrest. He wasn't moving.

"Sherlock," the Inspector began. "I have a case for you."

Sherlock didn't respond.

"A witness says she saw a man get shot on an empty side street in broad daylight. We examined the body, but there's no entry wound. After examining the crime scene, our team never found a bullet casing."

"Poison." Was the audible, yet somewhat muffled response.

"Haven't found any yet."

"Was it a stroke?" John asked form behind his laptop.

"We don't think so. We haven't been able to i.d. the man, but he seems to be in perfect health."

John frowned and went back to blogging.

"Well Sherlock?" Lestrade asked.

There was no response from the figure on the sofa.

"I'll come." Said John. "Maybe there's something I can help with."

Lestrade nodded. He gave one last look at Sherlock, then turned and walked out.


	3. Chapter 3

**What's this? A surprise update? Oh thank you Ginger Midget! Thank You!**

**You're welcome.**

**So, here's the third chapter. Enjoy.**

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Scotland Yard was buzzing as usual. John was surprised to see someone actually standing still. Lestrade saw her too.

"What the-"he waved down a passing policeman. "Bob! I thought I told you to take the bleedin' girl home!"

"I did." Said the policeman. "She lives in a foster home. When we got there, the woman was screamin' and wavin' her arms about where the hell she had been. It didn't seem like a safe environment, so I told her to grab her things and that I was takin' her to the station. I'm sorry Inspector, but it seemed like the right thing to do."

Lestrade sighed. Dang him and his soft heart. "You did the right thing Bob." He started to walk away. "Have someone look into this," he called over his shoulder.

They passed Sargent Donovan's desk. "The freak is in your office."

"What?"

Indeed, Sherlock was there. He was dressed, cleaned, and staring out the window.

"Sherlock!" Lestrade said. "How did you get here?"

"Shortcut," he murmured./

"Oh."

"The witness has already been talked to?"

"Yes."

"Good. I want to speak to her now."

"What? Why?"

Sherlock turned and gave Lestrade a look that clearly said _You're questioning my abilities?_

Lestrade sighed. "Fine. Just don't scare her."

Sherlock smirked and left the office.

_She's been orphaned recently-within the last year. There's a photo sticking out of the corner of her duffel._

_ Name: Kailey Williams. It's still visible on the coat and duffle in black marker despite being worn out._

_ Her shoes are a size to small._

_ She doesn't want to get in the way. That's why she's studying the gun chat. Particularly two of them._

He stood next to her. "Have you figured it out yet?"

"I think so," she looked at him. "Are you part of the police?"

"No. But I do need to talk to you." He turned and walked back to the office. Kailey slung her duffel bag over her shoulder and followed.

Lestrade was sitting behind his desk and John had sat himself in one of the extra chairs. Kailey sat in the corner, her coat draped over her lap. Sherlock pulled a seat behind Lestrde's desk, next to the window.

"So," Sherlock said, settling back into his chair. 'Would you mind reiterating what happened this morning?"

"Well," Kailey sighed. "Ms. Koaster, our foster mom, was yelling at Sammy, one of the younger kids. I told her to stop, and she told me get out of the house.'

"Wrong."

"What?"

"You're not telling us everything."

"Yes I am."

"Ms. Koaster slapped you. Your cheek is still red from where she hit you."

"It is?" Kailey turned to look at her reflection in the window.

"She slapped you?" Lestrade asked.

Kailey turned back and nodded. "Yeah."

"Why haven't you told anyone?" John asked.

"Aaron said that he used to call Child Services, but they never did anything. He's been there the longest."

Sherlock cleared his throat. "Would you continue, please?"

"So, after she slapped me-and said a few choice words-she told me to get out of the house. I did, and I went for a walk. I was going down Flanary and the street was covered in snow, since its all abandoned buildings and so nobody clears it away. There was this guy standing in the middle of the street looking up at one of the buildings. I kept walking on the sidewalk. After a few minutes, I heard a gunshot and the guy fell down. So I called the police and stayed where I was. I didn't touch anything. Honest."

There was a short pause as the three men contemplated different things. John spoke first.

"Um-Have you walked down Flanary before?"

Kailey shook her head. 'Once or twice, but not consistently."

"You said there was no entry wound on the body?" Sherlock asked Lestrade.

"Yes, that's right."

"What do you mean?" Kailey asked. "I _heard_ a gunshot."

"Maybe it was a stroke." John said.

"Then where does the gunshot come in? Huh? I'm not imagining this."

Lestrade sighed. "We'll go see. The body should be ready examination anyway." The three men stood up and got ready to leave.

"I'm coming with you." Kailey stood up.

"No, you're not," Lestrade faced her. "You're stayin' here, in my office, until I get back." He walked toward the door. "Don't touch anything."

He passed Donovan's desk. "Keep an eye on her," he muttered.

Donovan rolled her eyes.

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**Reviews would be nice.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey, I'm back. And I actually updated on a Saturday. Let's try to keep it this way.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock, unfortunately.**

* * *

The autopsy was just finishing up when the trio strided into the examination room. The man had brown hair and an average sized body.

Lestrade spoke to the woman conducting the examination. "Have you I.D.'d him yet?"

"We're running his prints through the system now sir."

"Good," he turned to Sherlock, who was bent over the corpses' face. "Uh, Sherlock?"

Sherlock pulled out his magnifying glass. "How long before the results come back?"

"A couple of hours, I should think."

"Of course," he murmured, and then straightened up. "Send the body to St. Bart's. I'll re-examin it there." Sherlock pocketed the magnifying glass and started to walk away.

"What? That's it?" John asked.

"There's nothing left for me to examine."

"Then where are you off to?" Lestrade asked.

"To find the missing identity of our unfortunate soul."

As they walked back to his office, Lestrade talked to John. "I need someone to look after Kailey."

"Okay."

"I was wondering if you could do it."

"Oh." John paused. "I'm not sure if-"

"John," Lestrade caught the doctor by the arm, and stopped him. "I can't watch her. I'm runin' a bleedin' station for God's sakes. It would be a real help if you did."

They walked back to the main area where Lestrade's office was. Kailey was still sitting in the chair, listening to her iPod and starring absentmindedly out the window. John remembered the talk about the foster home and his heart nearly broke in two.

John nodded. "Sure. I can do it."

Lestrade opened his mouth to respond, but got preoccupied with another person.

John stepped into the office. "Kailey, come on. You're coming with me."

Kailey grabbed her stuff and followed him out.

They stepped outside. While Kailey put on her coat, John's cell phone rang. The caller ID said it was Holmes.

"Hello."

"I need you to go to our flat and look through some files for me. Pull anything that has to do with cooking."

"Alright. Where are you?"

"In a cab on the way to the crime scene."

"Right. I'll get started on that."

Sherlock hung up.

John stopped the call and turned to Kailey, who was standing in a big, puffy, winter coat.

He smiled. "We're going to Baker Street."

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**If I get a substantal amount of reviews, there'll be a surprise guest the next time I post. (Which could be tomorrow, I'm not sure.) So what are you waiting for? Press that button!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Okay peeps, here's what's up. My family are becoming bundlers, and so we're losing our internet on the 30th. I'll try to post as much as I can before then, but no promises. I'll post once we get it back, and hey, maybe there'll be a new story for you guys to read.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.**

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Search: Flannary Street

Results: Flats for Rent  
Fire Kills Twenty People  
[Condemmed Buildings]

_The Sun_-April 1, 2008

While there are several areas in London that have condemmed buildings, the longest portion is found on Flannary Street. The flats that stand there today were built in the 1990s and were put up for rent. A few months later, a fire spread across a segment of the buildings, killing twenty of the residents. The other occupants moved out after it was discovered that the fire was caused by faulty wirering-

Back

Search: Plastic Surgery

Results: Need Plastic Surgery?  
Substitutes for Plastic. . .

Search: Plastic Surgery; Celeberties

Results: Hedi Goldman's Transformation  
[Collen O'Conor Gets Plastic. . .]  
Plastic Surgery is never. . .

_The London Post_-November 28, 2010

Cooking celeberty Collen O'Conor has reported to get plastic surgery done next month. The surgery will be done on his nose after it got severly burned on the twenty-fifth while taping his show. O'Conor was sent to the hospital and treated for third-degree burns. His nose hs horribly disfigured and when asked how it happened, he released this statement: "I was bendin' over a pot and poured some sparkling cider into it, when flames just lept up out o' it. They licked me nose good and I'm glad they just didn' get me whole face."

The executive producer said that she isn't sure why there were flames, but said they were planning to replace to stove anyway. "We discovered that it had some faulty wirering. The replacement was going to come in a few days-"

Back

Search: Kitchen Appliance Recalls

Results: Kitchen Aid Appliances. . .  
Emeril's Pot Set for. . .  
Get Great Deals on. . .  
Landberk Appliances Recalled

Back

Speed Dial: [Watson]  
Lestrade  
Mycroft

* * *

**So, I got one review. But that's enough! So guess who decieded to drop by today? It's John!**

**John: Hi everyone.**

**The Ginger Midget: So John, how do you like the good ol' U.S. of A?**

**John: It's alright. There's a lot of food.**

**The Ginger Midget: Yeah, we are an obese population. Anyway, what brings you here?**

**John: Well, I thought that I should visit this grat country and-**

**The Ginger Midget: Sherlock's on a case, isn't he?**

**John: Yeah.**

**The Ginger Midget: Well, I guess we have to let you go. Have a good time John.**

**John: Bye everybody. **


	6. Chapter 6

**Okay, so we haven't lost Internet. . . yet. So I decided to update, since I don't know when my next chance will be. (We're cleaning rooms and going on a mini-vacation at the end of the week.)So here's the next installment of Snow.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.**

* * *

Once they arrived, John immediately went to Holmes' desk. Kailey stood a bit uncertainly in the middle of the room, taking in her surroundings.

John was starting to open one of the droors when Mrs. Hudson walked in. "Hello John. I have groceries. Why, who's this?"

"Kailey. She's a witness in a case." He felt a bit embaresed, since he forgot to take her coat and everything.

"Oh really?" She asked as she shook the girl's hand. "I was on jury duty once; thee was a witness who looked just like you. Except she wasn't very convincing, or at least I thought so, I don't know about-"

"Mrs. Hudson, where'd you put the groceries?" John asked from the kitchen.

"On the counter; they're right there in front of you." Mrs. Hudson shuffled into the kitchen to point out where they were. "I bought some extra milk 'cause I knew you two would be needin' some."

Kailey started to take off her coat.

"Thanks Mrs. Hudson," said John.

"Your welcome John." The landlady started to leave. "It was nice meeting you dearie," she said to Kailey and left.

"That's Mrs. Hudson." John said. "She's the landlady."

"She likes to talk." Kailey observed.

"Yeah, she does that. Can I, uh, take you coat?"

"Sure." She handed it to him.

He hung it up on the coat rack, which leaned precariously under its weight.

"Do you want to help?" he asked.

"With what?"

"Finding information for Sherlock."

"Oh. Okay."

Hey sat down on the floor next to his desk. John re-opened the droor.

"He said to pull anything that had to do with cooking."

Kailey furrowed her brow. "Cooking?"

"Yeah. But, that's Sherlock. He's always doing weird stuff around the flat."

"Like what?"

So John told Kailey stories of most of the 'weird stuff" that went on on the apartment. She thoroughly enjoyed it.

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**Reviews would be nice. **


	7. Chapter 7

**I owe all of you an apology. I know that I haven't updated in about three weeks, and I'm sorry. Please forgive me. I feel horrible. Especially for the two that ar following me. **

**So, here's the next chapter. I know that it's kid of short, but hey, it's an update.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.**

* * *

The front door slammed shut a few hours later. There was a pounding up the flight of stairs and Sherlock burst into the living room. "Any information?" he asked.

"A little bit." John pointed to the two-inch stack of newspaper clippings, computer, print-outs, and other miscellaneous papers.

"How was the crime scene?"

"Inadequately processed." Sherlock said, pulling off his gloves. "Lestrade may run one of the best police stations in the city, but that does not account for-" he paused, gloves in hand. He had just noticed Kailey, who was sitting on the sofa cross-legged, and watching the telly. Sherlock's mind had already thought of the scenario that brought her here, but he still had to ask: "What is she doing here?"

"She's staying here." John answered nonchantly.

"For how long?"

"A long as she needs to."

Sherlock groaned and threw his gloves onto the seat cushion. "No! No! NOOO!" His hands flew up and grabbed his hair. "John, she has to leave. I have no time to babysit a child!"

John got up and pulled Sherlock into the kitchen. "Holmes. She has no where to go. The foster home is dangerous and Lestrade has enough of his own problems at the Yard that he can't keep an eye on her."

"Where will she sleep?"

"On the sofa. Or in your room, since you won't be using it until the case is over."

"No! John, I forbid her to go into my room!"

"I can hear you, you know." Kailey said from the other room.

John sighed. "Please, Sherlock?"

Sherlock looked over at Kailey. Her feet were flat on the floor, and she was leaning forward. She was staring at them.

"Fine," he muttered. "Just don't get on my way." He left the kitchen and went to his room.

John gave Kailey a half smile. That had gone better than he thought.

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**A review or two would be nice.**


	8. Chapter 8

**I'm back! Here's the next the chapter. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I wished I owned Sherlock, but I don't.**

**Warning: It gets a bit deep.**

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Sherlock spent the rest of the day going through the tow-inch stack of papers. He would read something, then either go on the Internet, or disappear to another part of the flat. Once he ripped the sheet he had been reading in half. Kailey was impressed at his work ethic.

John had explained what might happen now that Sherlock was on a case, and even gave her permission to use Sherlock's room if he disturbed her sleep.

That night, John brought home pizza for dinner to "celebrate Kailey's first night" with them. He cleaved the kitchen table of Sherlock's chemistry set, sterilized the surface, and set the table. After finding something safe to drink, he managed to get Sherlock to come sit with them, since he said he wasn't hungry.

"So," John said, cutting his slice with a fork and knife. "You're not from here, are you?"

"No."

Kailey looked at Sherlock when he answered with her.

"She's from America," Sherlock observed. "California, from her accent."

Kailey rolled her eyes. "Yes, I'm from Cali. Anything else?"

"Wait," said John. "If you're from California, what were you doing in a foster home?"

Sherlock opened his mouth, but shut it when Kailey gave him a glowering look. This was something she had to do herself.

"My family was murdered in May of last year. The police tried to find the killer, but it turned cold due to "a lack of evidence." A few weeks later, the house was blown up; the police thought it was caused by a gas leak, but I think it was rigged.

"I was sent here to live with my cousin, who had some addiction problems. After she was arrested, Child Welfare Services put me into foster care. I've been there ever since."

There was a slight pause at the table.

"Sorry." John said.

Kailey shrugged. "It's cool. I've come to terms with it. Being away I think helped."

"What did your dad do?"

"He was an agent. For movie stars? He was pretty good at his job."

"Mmm." John swallowed his food. "Sherlock, take a piece. It's really good."

"No."

"But don't you need energy from food?" Kailey asked, looking quizzically between the pizza and the detective.

Sherlock paused. "Touché."

He didn't touch the pizza slice.

Kailey grabbed it and bit, the cheese being reduced to greasy strings. She dropped it on her plate.

"I'm just glad they haven't found our place in Rio."

"What?" John asked.

"My family has a house in Rio. We keep the deed in our gardener's name, since his last name is pretty common."

"Rio." Sherlock breathed.

"Pardon?"

"Nothing." Sherlock cleared his throat. "You go to school?"

Kailey nodded. "Churchill Academy. I usually take the subway, but I need to renew my pass."

"Tube."

Kailey looked at him. "What is it with you and random words?"

"By subway, you mean tube."

"You know what I mean."

Sherlock allowed himself a taut smile at her reaction. "No, I don't."

"Shut up!" Kailey said, smacking him twice on the forearm. "You know _exactly_ what I mean!"

"Alright, alright!" John said. "If you two are going to fight, I'm going to have to switch the sleeping arrangements around."

"We're not fighting. We are having a physical discussion."

John smirked. "Whatever you call it, make it stop."

Kailey finished her drink. "I'm done anyway." She collected her dishes. "Thanks for the pizza."

"You're welcome."

Kailey placed her stuff in the sink and headed into the living room.

"See? It's working out fine." John said quietly to Sherlock.

He said nothing. Instead, he got up and left the room.

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**If you review, I'll give you a cookie. Your choice of flavor.**


	9. Chapter 9

**So, none of you reviewed, so none of you get cookies. Sorry. :(**

**Anyway, here's the next chapter.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock. What else is new?**

* * *

Kailey found the sofa quite commutable. John had given her an extra pillow and blanket from his room, so she was quite comfy.

If only it could last.

It was Monday, which meant school. John said that he would go with her, to see where it was. Then Sherlock announced that he was coming too, to which Ailey rolled her eyes.

They took a cab. Ailey gave the driver the address, then sat back to enjoy the ride. She didn't know what the way to school looked like above ground, since she took the tube.

Sherlock snorted beside her.

"What?" she asked, still starring out the window.

"Lestrade texted me. He said he has the identity of our man."

Kailey turned her head to look at him. "Who is it?"

John was looking at him too. "But you already found out?"

"Yes. Eight and a half hours ahead of him too, I might add."

Kailey repeated her question. "Who is it?"

"Collin O'Connor." Sherlock showed a picture of him on his phone to Kailey. "A growing celebrity with his own show, he had plastic surgery done on his nose."

"I've seen his show before." Kailey said.

"What was wrong with his nose?" asked John.

"It got burned and disfigured. The stove, as it turns out, had some faulty wirering."

"Why didn't they replace the stove?" Kailey asked.

"They were going to, but it didn't come in. Some shipping mistake."

"So while Kailey's in school, you and I are going to. . ."

"Talk to the executive producer." Sherlock tucked his phone into his pocket.

"Right."

Kailey went back to staring out the window.

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**Can you guys review? Pretty please with sugar on top? *sticks out bottom lip and makes puppy dog eyes***


	10. Chapter 10

**Happy Week of Sherlcok Holmes! Are you wearing your deerstalker cap? I know I am!**

**No, seriously, I really am.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock. Or the brand Kleenex.**

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After dropping Kailey off at school, Sherlock gave the driver the address for the studies where O'Connor formally worked. It took them about twenty minutes to get to the studio and find the set of O'Connor's cooking show.

The place was a hive activity, with everyone doing mostly useless tasks. Sherlock and John approached a girl with a headset who was moving a light.

"Excuse me," John said. The girl turned her head, revealing red-rimmed eyes. "Can we see the executive producer?" She nodded and turned, wheeling the light away.

"It seems odd that she would be so upset over his death." John said.

"Oh, she's not sad about that." Sherlock corrected. "Her boyfriend broke up with her before work today."

"How did you-"

"Photo in her back left pocket."

"Oh."

There was a loud clattering noise that was rapidly coming toward them. A woman wearing a brown pencil skirt and a white blouse with puffed sleeves was running as fast as she could, or as fast and as stable as her four-inch black stiletto heels would allow her. As she got closer, the two men could see that her eye makeup had been smudged.

"Ooooohhhhh!" she skidded to a stop in front of them. "Are you the police?"

"You could say that." John said.

The lady moaned again and ran her hands through her hair. Tears were starting to pool under her eyes. "I'm just ruined without Collin. Ruined!"

Sherlock placed a hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry," he soothed. "We're going to try and make everything better, alright? Now, take a deep breath." The two of them did. Sherlock handed her some Kleenex. "Now, let's start at the beginning."

Knees knocking together in her four-inch heels, the executive producer rubbed her eyes with the tissue, smearing her makeup even more.

"This is my first year in this position. I really wanted to do a good job, so I was working long hours most of the time. They put me on this show because they thought it would be easy for me." She sniffed.

"What about Collin?" John asked kindly.

"Oh." She sighed. "He was wonderful to work with. He had a great sense of humor."

"Any family?"

"Not that I know of. He was great with little kids, though."

"What happened on November 25, 2010?" Sherlock asked.

"We were taping the next episode for the show and Collin leaned over the pot to pour something inside it and then there were flames leaping out of it. . .and Collin was yelling something about his nose bein' burnt. . .it gave me quite a shock."

"Then who called the paramedics?" asked John.

"I'm not sure. Must've been Doug, one of our grafters. He knows medical procedures."

"Is he here?"

"Oh, I don't know." She looked around, bewildered. "I'm not sure."

"Is there an office we can look at?" Sherlock asked.

The lady nodded , weeping. She pointed behind her.

Sherlock strided past her. John patted her shoulder, muttered "Thanks.", and hurried to catch up.

"Well, she seems rather shaken up," said John, as she bawled behind them.

"She had a crush on him. She was going to tell him her feelings, but was obviously too late."

"And now she's so distraught that she doesn't know what to do."

"Exactly. Hopefully we can find something of more substantial evidence in his office."

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**Soooo, what do you think will happen next? Review this chapter and tell me!**


	11. Chapter 11

**I just realized that we've gotten to double digits. **

**Yeeeeeaaaaaaaaa!**

**Anyway, here's the latest update.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock.**

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Collin's office was relatively clean, with everything having a place to call home. The writing utensils were in the black cup, the papers worth filing were in the appropriate folders in the filing cabinet. Even the dust bunnies seemed to be stacked neatly in their corner.

Sherlock knew that people who kept personal spaces remarkably clean were prone to keep things hidden more cleverly than people who kept their personal spaces messy. The latter would shove important, secret documents into a random pile, thinking that it would never be found. The former would come up with a clever little cubby or hidey-hole where they knew that it would never be noticed by the average human.

Well, Sherlock wasn't the average human.

John went straight to the file cabinet, while Sherlock started to tap his leather-incased knuckles on the desk. It was silent, except for the rustlings of paper and the light _tap-tap. Tap-tap_ on the wood.

John was wondering what he should be looking for, and was about to ask, but he didn't. He knew Sherlock would say "Anything out of the ordinary," so John pressed on.

The thing was, there wasn't anything out of the ordinary at all with the filing cabinet. So far, there were just recipes in categorized folders and droors. He really didn't feel the need to look through all of them.

He pulled out a folder marked "Holiday-Turkey" in black permanent marker. (They all were.) He opened it. He was surprised.

What John was looking at was a recipe printed out from a computer. It looked like it had been printed out from a recipe website. The title said the dish was called "Cranberry Turkey", but John knew it was something else.

"Holmes," he ventured eyes still on the paper.

The detective didn't respond.

"Sherlock," John tired again.

He grunted and poked his mop of curly hair from behind the desk. "What?"

"Come here. I found something."

Sherlock obliged and got up, his thin frame bending over his friend when he got over there. He looked at the white sheet. "What?"

"This recipe. I've seen it before."

"And? How is it relevant?"

"My mum makes this every year."

"So? A recipe can be changed. It doesn't mean anything."

John picked up the piece of paper and noticed the top of it bent backwards unnaturally. He felt it. There was white-out along the edge.

"Sherlock," John poked him in the leg. "Here." He handed it to him. "There's white-out along the top edge."

Sherlock held it up to the light, and then proceeded to pick at it.

John flipped through the rest of the folder's contents. On some, he could see the faint sheen of white-out, on others, there were things deliberately crossed off in pen. John was having some doubts now; it probably didn't mean anything. But something told him to hang onto it, whatever it was.

Someone knocked on the door frame. Both men looked up. A lanky young man, about 24, stood in the door way. He was wearing a black sweater rolled up to the elbows, and brown cargo pants. He had a headset around his neck.

"Um, can I help you?" he asked.

Sherlock stared at him for a minute, and then walked forward. "The name's Sherlock Holmes. I'm here to investigate Collin O'Connor's death."

"Doug Brian. I'm a graffer." They shook hands.

"Ah, yes! We've heard about you already."

"Oh really? Hey, can I get you something to drink, coffee, tea?"

Sherlock smiled. "Sure! And actually, we have some questions to ask you, so if you don't mind. . ."

"Oh, of course! Follow me." Doug turned around and walked away, with Sherlock following him.

John hoisted himself off the floor and shut the droor. He tucked the recipe into his jacket pocket and left the office, turning off the lights as he went.

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**Please review, even it's criticism. Tell me what I can do better!**


	12. Chapter 12

**I'm back! **

**Sorry it took me longer to update. I was doing a show this weekend and it got in the way. But it's over now, so I have more time for writing. Yea!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything Sherlock related. Except the Season 1 DVD.**

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Doug led them to a table set up with coffee makers, tea packets, creamer, etc. John asked for tea and was promptly handed a Styrofoam cup with hot water. Sherlock asked for coffee.

Doug muttered something under his breath as he peered into the coffee maker. "Someone forgot to refill it," he explained and started to measure out the correct amount of coffee grounds into the filter.

"So, how long have you been working here?" John asked.

"Just a few months," said Doug. "Long enough to get comfortable."

"This isn't a permanent job." Sherlock observed.

"No, it isn't." Doug filled the coffee machine with water. "I want to become a doctor, but the bills need to be paid, and they needed some extra people, so here I am."

John asked another question. "Did you work on this show, or . . .?"

"I worked downstairs. With Channel 8 News? It wasn't a bad job; better than this."

Sherlock frowned. "In what aspects?"

Doug sighed. "First of all, he only cared about himself. It didn't matter who you were; I honestly think that the queen herself could walk in here and he wouldn't give a care about her.

"Secondly, he hit on all the girls. Collin didn't care if they were married, or dating, or whatever. He broke a lot of hearts, some more than once.

"The third thing is our executive producer."

"Yes, we've already talked to her."

"She is so _naïve_. And she has no experience whatsoever-"

"Doug," Sherlock began. "As much as we'd _love_ to hear you rant, we have things to do. So if you could just tell us what happened on November 25, 2010."

He poured the freshly brewed coffee into a cup. "We were taping an episode and Collin had to pour some sparkling cider into this pot. He leaned over more than he was supposed to, and the next thing that happened was that flames were jumpin' outa it. I dropped the mike and went over to make sure that he was okay. His nose seemed pretty brunt, so I put a cold, wet compress over it and had someone call for an ambulance."

"Have you heard anything about them replacing the stove?"

"I might have, but not anything extensive."

"If you hear anything else, would you mind dropping me a line? Thanks. Here's my card." Sherlock produced a white business card from his coat pocket and held it between his index and middle finger. Doug took it.

"Is there anything else?" he asked.

"No, no. I think we have everything we need. Come on, John." They turned and walked away.

Doug looked at the business card.

Sherlock Holmes

Consulting detective

221b Baker Street 555-2468

.uk

Doug sipped at the forgotten coffee.

It wasn't half bad.

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**Reviews would be a nice treat since I was gone for a week. (Hey, it ryhmes!)**


	13. Chapter 13

**'Sup.**

**So, the plan is to update as much as possible during these two weeks before school starts. After that, it'll just be on weekends. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock. Or anything other fandom for that matter.**

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"So, now what?" John asked as they walked down the street.

"We need to find out more."

"More?"

"Yes, more. You go to his house. Look through his things; find out what kind of life he had, what his hobbies were, things like that. I'll follow up on the stove; see what's exactly wrong with it. Meet at St. Bart's around. . ." Sherlock checked the time on his watch. "Eighteen hundred hours."

"I assume lunch is on our own?"

"If you care about such things." Sherlock turned and walked away.

After grabbing a bite to eat, and getting O'Connor's address from Lestrade, John started to head in the direction of the chef's house. It turned out that it wasn't that far, and since he didn't have that much money anyway, he decided to walk.

The weather man had said that there was about two inches of snow expected today. Not that it would matter. It would get patted, scraped, pushed, squashed, basically disintegrate under the feet and tire treads of London. It would become forgotten.

He tolerated snow. He had enjoyed it growing up, but as he got older it lost its magic. When he was in Afghanistan, he had wished for it of course, and was happy to see it when he first got back, but now it was becoming a regular occurrence. He would still stick out his tongue to catch snowflakes though.

Collin's house turned out to be a large, ornate row house. The porch was at least ten yards across and was covered in urns that sprouted curls of ivy. There were four, stout pillars that held up the roof. And a door.

John realized that the door was probably locked, and he didn't want to break into the house. So he started to look for a spare key. After checking in and around the urns, he decided to check under the doormat. As he bent down, he heard a cough behind him.

He turned around. A man in a black suit stood on the walkway leading up to the house. He was carrying a plastic bag full of cleaning supplies. "What are you doing?"

"I was, uh, I was looking for a key. Do you work here?" John added as an afterthought.

"Yes." The man smiled and continued toward the house. "I'm Collin's butler, Samuel. I'm here to clean for the funeral viewing."

John's eyebrows shot up. "They're having the viewing here?"

"Yes."

"When?"

Samuel took a ring of keys out of his pocket. "Sometime later this week. I was just notified to tidy up the place." He unlocked the door. "Are you with the police?"

"Well, not . . . exactly."

Samuel studied him for a few seconds. "Come on in."

The foyer was colored in different shades of white and beige. The walls were eggshell and the side tables and vases on top of them were beige. Even the flowers had a milky or creamy whiteness to them. The light bulbs produced enough light to see the correct shade of everything, but were low enough to produce light shadows from everything.

Their footsteps echoed through the empty house. "What are you here to do, exactly?" Samuel asked.

"I need information about Collin's personal life," said John as he looked around at the décor.

Samuel pressed his lips together and nodded. "I can help you with that."

John found himself a few minutes later in the dining room polishing some silver. Samuel said he talked better if his hands were busy, and besides, he did need the help.

"I came to work for Collin about four years ago. He said I would be doing just housework, and for the first months I did."

"Was he just starting out?" John interrupted.

"Yes, you could say that. Unfortunately, I started to do more than housework. As time went by, I found myself cooking as well."

"Cooking?" John exclaimed.

Samuel gave a sad, but amused nod. "Yes, cooking."

"But he's a chef!"

The smile disappeared. "What do you mean?"

John opened his mouth, but nothing came out. The butler had no clue what Collin did for a living.

"Perhaps," Samuel said. "I should explain further."

John nodded dumbly.

"Mr. O'Connor never told me what he did for a living. All I knew is that he went out every morning at nine and came back at sixteen hundred hours. He somehow found money to pay the bills. It was very routine.

"That was the first year. Once the second year started, he changed. It started in February I think. He asked if I could start making his meals for him. I asked why and he said 'Never you mind. Just do as you're told.' So I started making his meals."

"Did he ever criticize you? About the meals?"

"No. But he did start to stay out later."

"How much later?"

Samuel shrugged. "It depended. Sometimes he'd be back an hour after his regular time, other times it would be well into the next morning. He would usually be drunk. I used to keep his dinner warm for him, but I stopped after a while."

"Did he always come home drunk?" John asked, jotting something down in his miniature notebook.

"Most of the tome. He came with friends several times."

"Anyone you could identify?"

Samuel smiled and shook his head. "No, probably not."

"Anything else?"

"No, I don't think so." He paused. "Sir, the reason why I don't know much about him is that I don't pry. I've been in positions like this before, and I've found that it's best to not know anything about your employer's personal life."

"I can respect that," said John. "Can I, uh, see his room?"

"Sure." Samuel set down his silver and led John back to the foyer and up the stairs. Collin's room was the third room on the right.

"I'll be in the dining room if you need anything sir." Samuel left.

Collin's room was carpeted, and had a canopy above the bed. Everything was neat.

John wasn't sure where to start. Looking the room over, he didn't see any pictures or any personal objects. He decided to start with the desk.

The desk was made of walnut and had a white desk calendar on it. The current month was blank. He flipped through the rest of it. It was clean.

The top center droor held nothing of interest. Just some writing utensils, some paper clips, some empty pads of paper. The droor on the the top left just had some _GQ _magazines. The one below that had blank printing paper. John opened the third and final droor.

What he found shocked him.

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**Whew! That was a long one. Surely there must be _something_ you liked/didn't like. Review it and tell me!**


	14. Chapter 14

**Hilo. Here's the latest update. :)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or Microsoft Excel.**

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The owner of Landberk Appliances didn't like his job. He hated it, to be more precise. He only cared about making money, and so therefore, cut corners in order to make more of it. This was why his appliances were being recalled and the owner found this a mere annoyance.

Sherlock found this out as he sat across from him, one ankle resting on the other knee.

The owner, whose name was apparently Mathew Wilcox, really didn't want to talk, so he was pretending to fill out an accident report.

"You misspelled the word 'conveyor'".

Mathew looked up. "What?"

"Conveyor. It's spelled with a _y_, and you used the wrong form of _its._"

Mathew put down his pen and folded his hands in front of him. "All right, Mr. Holmes. What do you want?"

"I need to know about an oven that was sold to Channel 8 Studios."

"That's not my department. You'll have to ask Mr. Coffry."

"And where can I find him?"

"_I_ don't know."

Sherlock left the office in order to track down Mr. Coffry. It seemed that nobody knew where he was, and he finally found him on the loading dock.

"Mr. Coffry!" Sherlock called out as he strided across the 50 yards separating them. Mr. Coffry was wearing a baseball cap and a blue, zip-up jacket. He was carrying a clipboard.

"Yes sir?" he asked.

"Do you handle sales affairs?"

"Yep."

"I need to know about an oven that was sold to Channel 8 Studios."

"Do you have a date?"

"No."

"Follow me." Mr. Coffry led Sherlock to an office next to the loading dock. It was small, cold, and smelled like concrete. It had a desk and a computer. Sherlock stuffed his hands into his pockets.

Mr. Coffry sat down in front of the computer. He opened up Excel, opened a file, and started to scroll through the information.

"Okay, one was sold about a year and a half ago . . . and another one was sold to them around October."

"Was the second one ever delivered?"

"No. The truck got hijacked. We offered to give them another one, but the representative said that they didn't need it after all."

Sherlock began to realize something. And he didn't think it was good.

"Thank you." He replied curtly, turned, and walked away.

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**For those of you that read _The Songs of Baker Street_, I'm not updating that today. I don't like the drabble that I wrote and need to write a new one. Tomorrow I'll update it. :)**

**Review, as always.**


	15. Chapter 15

**Heeeeerrreeeee's Gingy!**

**Here's the next chapter. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.**

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"Hey John!"

"Oh! Kailey! How are you?"

"Good. I'm taking the subway home, so you don't need to pick me up."

"Okay. I don't know what we're doing for dinner-"

"That's fine. I'll find something."

"Alright then. See you later."

"Bye."

Sherlock stood in the executive producer's office of the cooking show Collin had starred in. She was still frantic and wouldn't stand still.

"Did you cancel the second stove order?"

"No. I don't know why anyone would do that. Everyone knew that stove needed to be replaced."

Sherlock arched an eyebrow. "Everyone?"

The executive producer nodded. "Everyone!" She burst into tears.

Having gotten the answer he wanted, Sherlock left the office and the building. John was waiting outside.

"Someone set Collin up." Sherlock announced as he strided away. John ran to catch up with him. "The question is who, and why."

"Sherlock!" John grabbed his friend's coat sleeve to make him stop. "I found something." He pulled some pictures out of his pocket.

The pictures were of Collin at several different parties. There were girls, booze, the usual. Sherlock plucked one out of John's hand and held it up to his face.

"What did you find?" John asked.

"The stove was never delivered." He muttered, totally absorbed in the picture.

"Truck got hijacked."

"What?"

Sherlock handed the picture back to John. "Well, there's another thing we have to determine: What does Kailey have to do with all this?"

"She saw him get shot."

Sherlock snorted and walked away.

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**Reviews are encouraged and appreciated. :)**


	16. Chapter 16

**Heeelllllloooooooo. **

**This is a shorter chapter, but there's also some light-heartedness in here too. That should make more enjoyable.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes. If I did, there would be a third, full-length season already. But I digrese.**

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They arrived back at Baker Street to find Kailey sitting in front of the coffee table doing her homework. She looked up as they walked in.

"Hey."

"Hey." John greeted. "How was school?"

"Good."

"What are you doing?"

"My homework."

"Oh." John looked over her shoulder. "Good work then." He patted it.

"Kailey," Sherlock had taken off his coat, gloves, and scarf, and had sat himself at the edge of his chair. His fingertips were touching between the knees. "What do you know about Mr. O'Connor?"

"He's dead?"

"Besides that."

Kailey waved her pencil in the air in thought. "Not much."

"Was the show ever on at the foster care home?"

"I don't think so."

Sherlock paused. "Did your father do anything with him?"

Kailey seemed shocked at the question. "I don't think so. . ."

Sherlock glowered at her.

"But I can check! Dad had a friend he worked with who still lives in California. I can shoot him an e-mail."

"Great." He rubbed his hands together and stood up. "How 'bout some dinner?"

"I already ate." Kailey said. "There's not much in the fridge."

"I thought there was leftover pasta salad, or something."

"No, there was something else in the container. It looked like intreials or something from an animal."

John looked over at Sherlock, who was in the kitchen getting mugs down from the cupboard. John sighed. "Sherlock. . ."

"Want some coffee John?"

John felt warn out. "Sure." He walked into the kitchen. "You're making dinner."

Sherlock made scrambled eggs and they were actually quite good. Kailey finished her homework, showered, e-mailed her dad's friend, and settled in to watch the news. John blogged and Sherlock cleaned his violin.

It was a quite night on Baker Street. They all went to bed an hour later.

Except Sherlock. He never slept when he was on a case.

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**Did you enjoy it? I hope you did. Tell me and review!**


	17. Chapter 17

**Another update for you wonderful people. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.**

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The next morning, Kailey was sitting at the kitchen table eating some cereal. She was listening to John and Sherlock argue in the other room. Apparently, Sherlock had been using John's laptop without his permission. Again.

Kailey stood up and put her dishes in the sink. She walked into the parlor and started to bundle up.

"Hey, where're you going?" John asked, red-faced and slightly winded from shouting.

"School. It's Tuesday."

"Oh." John stood panting a little. "Well, have fun then."

"Bye." Kailey shouldered her backpack and walked out.

It was cold as she walked to the _subway_ station. She supposed that she could take a taxi, but the subway had more people and there was safety in numbers.

The tube-sorry, _subway_- took her down to Brixton Road and she walked up the steps to the street. The school grounds were swarming with students, despite the temperature. The scene reminded Kailey of maggots on a corpse.

School was pretty uneventful. Math, history, gym, in that order. Lunch was lukewarm spaghetti in an even cooler meat sauce. Kailey sat with two kids from her former foster care home. They made small talk.

Kailey's next class was Language Arts. A tolerable class. The teacher was going over the different works of the Bronte sisters when the class telephone rang. The teacher answered it quietly, and then hung up.

"Kailey Williams," he called out in his clipped accent. "You're wanted in room 203."

Kailey gathered her things and left the room.

Looking back, it seemed to Kailey that the walk had been slightly unnerving. The stretch of hallway she was walking down was eerily silent; even the hot water radiators beneath the windows were quite.

Room 203 was in the middle of the hallway. Kailey opened it slowly and looked around.

There was a man sitting on the teacher's desk, holding a black umbrella between his legs. He was wearing a light grey suit and shiny black shoes.

"Hello, Kailey." His smile was cold, and, quite frankly, evil.

"How do you know my name?" Kaliey opened the door the rest of the way.

"I wouldn't worry about it if I were you." He stood up and started to walk forward, swinging his umbrella around like it was a cane. "Sit there." He said, pointing to a desk with the tip of his sunshade. Kailey walked over and sat, piling her things on top while the man shut the door.

Kailey ventured a question. "Am I in trouble?"

"Do you want to be?" The man turned to face her. "I'm sure I could dig up _some_ charges to file against you." He was now right in front of her desk. Kailey sank into the chair out of fear.

"But, that's not why I'm here." He turned and swung his umbrella up so it rested on his shoulder. He turned again and leaned up against the whiteboard. "I'm here to talk to you about you situation."

Kailey never liked when people talked about her "situation", especially people she didn't know.

"What about it?" she asked.

"Do you like where you're staying?"

"It's better that where I was."

The man paused. "Are you lonely?"

"Not really."

Another pause. "Is Sherlock treating you decently?"

"I guess. Is he in trouble?"

The man gave that creepy smile again. "No, not yet."

He asked a few more questions, and then let Kailey go. "Thank you for cooperating with me Kailey; I really do appreciate it."

Kaliey yanked open the door and scurried back to class.

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**You knew he was going to make an apperance sooner or later. ;)**


	18. Chapter 18

**Hello, and welocme back! Happy First of September! Isn't this a great way to starrt off the month?**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.**

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When school ended, Kailey gathered her things from her locker and walked out the front of the school. She was going to take the subway home, but instead saw John standing next to a taxi.

"So, how was school?" John asked once they were on their way to Baker Street.

"It was okay," she said. She hesitated. "John, I talked to a guy today."

"Oh really?"

"Yeah. I had to go to an empty classroom to talk to him. He just asked me a bunch of questions."

John wrinkled his forehead. "What was his name?"

"I don't know. I didn't ask."

When they reached the flat, John let Kailey go in first. "Do you have any homework?"

"Not really," said Kailey, jogging up the stairs. "I have a little math, but-"

At this point, Kailey had opened the door. She gasped.

The man she had talked to at school was there.

"What's wrong?" asked John.

Kailey pointed. "That's the man I talked to at school!"

John groaned. "Mycroft!"

"I was making sure she was safe."

"You didn't have to scare her, though!" John said, walking into the room and tossing his coat onto his chair.

Kailey stood awkwardly in the door.

"It's alright Kailey!" John called from the kitchen. "He's safe!"

Kailey visibly relaxed and started to deposit her things onto the sofa.

"So," Mycroft said. "How's the case going?"

"Good." John entered back into the parlor. "We've made some break throughs." He looked around the room. "Where's Sherlock?"

As if on cue, Sherlock burst into the room. He had a thick sheft of papers in his hands. His eyes locked onto Mycroft. "No."

"I'm already working on one!" Sherlock strided toward his brother and stood right in front of him. "Now I suggest you leave before something regretful happens."

There was a slight pause as the Holmes brothers had a stare-down. Mycroft finally broke. "Alright Sherlock. I'll leave." He started toward the door. "I know when I'm not wanted."

At the last second, he turned around. "It was nice to meeting you Kailey," he said. Mycroft left the flat.

Kailey puckered her lips. "Wow."

"Sherlock, what's all this?" John gestured toward the sheft of papers that was still in his hand.

"Collin was being blackmailed," he announced and slapped the papers that were still in his hands.

"By who?" asked John.

"By what?" asked Kailey.

"He's from Ireland and wanted to make it big. However, his family didn't have any money and so he had to find other means of acquiring his fame."

"You haven't answered my question." Kailey said. John shushed her.

"Collin met this man who said he could help. He set Collin up as a rising cooking star and started to introduce him to the right crowds. Collin had agreed to pay this man each month, but was getting behind in his payments. This mystery man threatened to blackmail him if he didn't pay up. Collin failed to do so, and . . ." Sherlock drew his index finger across his throat.

"So he was executed?" Kailey said."

"Correct."

"Well, who's this mystery man?" John asked.

"Not sure. I haven't found any information on that yet. But I will."

"Sooo . . . now what?" Kailey patted her hands together.

"See if your friend e-mailed you back. John and I are headed back to the studio."

"Right."

"Come on John!" Sherlock jogged out of the flat. "I'm on a roll!"

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**So now you have a bit of an explanation. I hope that helps.**


	19. Chapter 19

**Happy Labor Day!**

**So, this is my last posting before school starts. *sniff* During the school year, I plan to post/update on the weekends, maybe on weekdays if I have no homework and I'm feeling froggy. Don't worry, I'll still be floating out there. Just not that often.**

**Here's the next chapter. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock.**

* * *

"What are we looking for?" John asked as they burst into the dead chef's office.

"A hiding place." Sherlock went up to the desk and flipped it over (with a little bit of difficulty.)

"Oo-kay."

John went back to the file cabinet. He started to go through the files again, only this time at a much faster rate and dropped them to the floor.

During their rampage, Doug stopped in. "What are you doing?"

"Hiding spot." Sherlock muttered under his breath.

"Oh." Doug paused, clutching his cup of coffee. "Well, you know that Collin has a safe deposit box."

The detective and the doctor stopped and starred.

"He does?" John asked.

"Yeah."

"Where is it?"

"I don't know." Sherlock groaned. "I just heard him talking about it once. I don't even know if it's true or not."

John's cell phone rang. He answered it and propped it between his ear and shoulder. "Hello?"

"I got the e-mail John," said Kailey.

"Oh really?" John started to paw his way into the back of the cabinet. "What did it say?"

"He said that he doesn't think Dad worked with him, but he did work with a guy named Clearance O'Malley."

John pulled out a file folder from the very back. He turned it over.

There was a key taped to the back.

"Hello, John? Are you there?"

"Yeah, I'm going to have to call you back." John waved the folder in Sherlock's general direction.

"Okay. Is there anything I can do?"

"No, no, I don't think so. We'll talk later. 'Bye." John hung up.

"Sherlock, I found a key!"

Sherlock picked his way to where John was standing. John ripped the key from the folder.

Sherlock examined it. "It's from the National Bank of London."

He snatched it from John's hands and ran out the door, John following closely at his heels.

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**Review you guys!**


	20. Chapter 20

**Hey y'all, I'm back. See, I told you I would update!**

**I know this is short, and probably won't hold you over until next week. But, I'm keeping my plan, soooooo that gives you something to look forward to.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.**

* * *

"No one has been back to claim the deposit box," the attendant was saying. "The last visit was about two years ago."

The man led them down the corridor lined with flat, silver boxes marked with a number and a key hole. Sherlock seemed impatient.

"Do you know what's in the box?" John asked.

"No sir, I do not. Ah! Here it is!" The attendant indicated a box at about eye level. The number was 1915.

Sherlock stood there and waited for the man to leave. John gave a curt nod. "Right. Thank you."

The attendant gave a tight-lipped smile. "I'll be at my desk if you need anything. " He brushed past them to leave.

As soon as he left, Sherlock attacked the wall. He jammed the key into the lack and twisted it until there was a click. He yanked the box out of its slot.

In it was a single sheet of paper. It looked like a contract.

Sherlock picked it up and read one of the signatures out loud. "Clearance O'Malley. . ."

"Kailey said her dad worked for him," said John.

They both took off again, leaving the safe deposit box and the key behind.

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**Reviews make my week all sunshine and flowers! **


	21. Chapter 21

**I'm back. Again, I know this chapter is really short. I'm working on making them longer, don't worry. Thanks for continued reading, even though I'm posting less now. I really apreciate it.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock.**

* * *

Sherlock seemed to think that Kailey knew who Clearance was. This thought led to a very loud verbal argument between the two. John was surprised that Sherlock hadn't hurt the girl yet.

He was also surprised that he could hear his cell phone above the rucus. "Hello?"

"Any improvements on the case?" Lestrade asked.

"Well, there's been some. Right now we're trying to figure out who Clearance O'Malley is."

"That name sounds familiar." Lestrade muttered. "Come down to the station; I might have something for ya."

John managed to calm Kailey and Sherlock down and bundled them into a cab.

As it turned out, O'Malley wasn't a rising movie star. He was a hit man for the Irish Mob.

Sherlock stared out the window while the doctor and the detective inspector formulated theories. But they were wrong.

"I'll be back later." He said and left the office in a flourish.

The trio that was left gave the space he formally occupied looks of annoyance and confusion, and then went back to work.

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**Perhaps you could review this tiny little chapter for me? Please?**


	22. Chapter 22

**Hey everybody! I'm back, and better than ever!**

**Okay, not really. My writing is still the same. But, I'm back, and that's what counts. Enjoy the next chapter!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.**

* * *

It was late when Sherlock waltzed back into Scotland Yard.

"There he is." Muttered Lestrade, hoisting himself up out of his chair. "Where the bloody hell have you been?"

"I've been following a lead." Sherlock said nonchalantly.

"We've been trying to call you."

"Yes, I know." Sherlock went into Lestrade's office.

His desk lamp was the only light that was on. John was on the computer and Kailey was curled up in a chair, sleeping. There was a faint odor of cheap Chinese take-out in the air.

"I know who O'Malley was working with."

"You do?" John looked up from the computer. "Who is it?"

"Jim. James Moriarty." He paused to let this sink in.

"So, he blew up Kailey's house?" John asked.

"And killed her family. James wanted her father to come into the drug business with him, since so many Hollywood celebrities are corrupted these days. When he said no, James sent O'Malley to teach him a lesson. They blew up the house to destroy any evidence."

Lestrade sighed. "This is goin' to break her heart."

"Oh, don't worry. I've got a plan to catch O'Malley." Sherlock described it.

"I'm not puttin' that little girl in danger!" Lestarde said when Sherlock was finished.

"This is the only way?" John asked.

"As far as I'm concerned, yes." He squatted down next to Kailey and gently began to shake her. "Kailey, wake up," he said softly.

Kailey woke up, rubbing her eyes. "Mmm?"

"We know who killed your parents." Sherlock soothed.

"Mmmmf?"

"Yes, really. Would you like to help us catch him?"

Kailey was awake enough to now comprehend what Sherlock was asking. "Sure.'

"Good. Now," Sherlock arranged himself in a better position. "Here's what you have to do. . ."

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**Tune in tomorrow. For the next esciting installment in. . . _Snow_!**

**Review like crazy, peeps!**


	23. Chapter 23

**Everyone, I have big news.**

**I drank tea today.**

**Do I like it? I'm not sure yet. I'm going to have to experiment in what little free time I have. **

**Anyway, here's that exciting chapter I promised!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.**

* * *

Sherlock and Lestrade sat in a car looking directly down between Flannary Street. A lone figure stood in the snow between the rows of buildings. Kailey was in position.

"I'm not so sure I can do this." Kailey said. She was wired and the receiver sat on the dashboard in the car.

"You'll do fine." Lestrade assured her. "Just say what Sherlock says." He glanced at the detective, who was sitting in the passenger seat. Sherlock had burrowed into his coat, his head being the only visible body part. His brow was furrowed and he had said nothing.

So far.

"We see him," said one of the snipers positioned on the roof of the building behind Kailey. His voice floated through the receiver.

Sherlock broke his position, reached forward, and grabbed the microphone connected to the reliever. He started to peak into it. "I know who you are."

"I know who you are." Kailey stood in the cold and the snow and shouted it up toward the windows. In the car, Lestrade tuned the volume down.

"I know what you did." Sherlock continued. "You can't hide anymore."

Kailey repeated what he said.

"There's police waiting for you, so if you don't want to cause a fuss, come quietly." Kailey stood uncertainly, as the wind blew down the street.

"I'm the one you want." Sherlock spoke calmly into the microphone. "I;m right here, so come get me."

Kailey felt tears well up in her eyes and her voice cracked as she yelled out the words.

"Sherlock!" Lestrade hissed in protest. Sherlock ignored him.

"You killed my parents, so why don't you shoot me now?"

Kailey was openly crying now.

"Sherlock, that's enough!" Lestrade made a move to take away the mike.

"He's gone!" The sniper's voice cut through the air. Sherlock sat forward in anticipation.

Out on the street, Kailey stood there, her breath heaving as she attempted to calm herself down. Why did he make her say those things? He knew how much it hurt, so why-

The door to the building opened. She stopped crying. A large, burly man stepped put and walked toward her.

"So, yer he one who gotta away?" He stopped several feet in front of her. Kailey said nothing.

"Well, you've probably heard about O'Malley by now," he said. "And you probably know that O'Malley doesn't leave no loose ends." With that declaration, he pulled put a pistol and aimed it at Kailey's chest.

_Somebody help me, _she thought as she stared at the weapon with no uncertain horror.

"O'Malley."

Their heads turned and saw Sherlock standing several yards away. He had his hands stuffed into his pockets and the wind was blowing the hem of his coat around.

The Irishman snorted. "And just who are you su'posed to be?" he asked.

Sherlock paused for a moment. "Your worst enemy."

At that moment, two policemen tackled O'Malley to the ground. His gun flew out of his hand, sliding a little bit in the snow before it finally stopped to rest.

Kailey started to sob again, standing still while all the commotion happened around her. She was aware of Sargent Donavan walking around her to where O'Malley lay being handcuffed. Her nose started to run.

John jogged up to her side. "Kailey, are you all right?"

Kailey nodded, to shook up to think reasonably.

"Come on, let's get you inside." John took her arm and put his arm her shoulder. He led her from Flannary Street to the nearest car. They passed by Sherlock, and John gave him a look. They kept walking.

Sherlock stood still and stayed silent throughout the entire thing.

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**Reviews are sugar and spice and everything nice! **


	24. Chapter 24

**Here's the next chapter. I'm getting close to the ending, so be sure to stay tuned.**

**Disclaimer: I don't Sherlock.**

* * *

O'Malley was placed in an interrogation room once he arrived at New Scotland Yard. Kailey was given a chair in Lestrade's office with a cup of hot chocolate. Lestrade himself took coffee with a dash of whiskey and John took tea.

Lestrade waited a moment before asking the inevitable question: "So, how do we pin the murders on him?"

"We, uh, could get the C.I.A. involved." John said.

"It won't do us any good." Sherlock said.

"Can I talk to him?" Kailey asked. She had been silent during the car ride and during the arrival at the station.

The three men turned to look at her. "I don't think that's a–" Lestrade blustered.

"Please? Just one question. It's for closure."

Lestrade sighed. "Fine. As long as someone goes in with you."

"Can Sherlock come?"

John was surprised at the request and looked at Sherlock to see how he responded to it. His face didn't reveal anything.

Lestrade felt like he was losing control of the situation, and frankly, quite helpless. "Only if he wants to."

Kailey turned and looked at Sherlock. "Please?"

Sherlock starred at her. Her eyes were pleading him to say yes. He thought about what O'Malley was going to say as the answer to her question. He nodded his head.

Kailey stood up, took one last sip from her hot chocolate, and followed Sherlock out the door.

O'Malley was handcuffed to the table. He sat facing the one-way window, which functioned as a mirror when you were inside the interrogation room, and a window when you were outside it. Sherlock and Kailey could see him leering at it, not knowing that they were on the other side.

Sherlock went in first and held the door open for Kailey. She walked in, he shut it, and then he went to stand in the corner.

Kailey stood in front of the door, her arms crossed and tucked around her body. She stared at O'Malley for a moment. "Why did you do it?"

"For the money." The man's voice was harsh and grating.

"And if there was no money?" Kailey asked, knowing that she was well over her one-question limit.

"I still would have done it." O'Malley leered at her.

Kailey stared at him for a moment again, then turned and yanked open the door. She hurried down the hallway and went into the first ladies bathroom that she saw. Once inside, Kailey let herself cry.

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**Reviews would be a nice pick-me-up though-out the week.**


	25. Chapter 25

**Heeeeeyyyyyyy, everybody! So, I know I didn't update last week, mainly because I was lazy. *shrugs* But, I'm back! And have a brand new chapter to share with you. Ready? Let's go!**

**Warning: Short chapter ahead.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.**

* * *

"Hello?"

"Hi. Mycroft?"

"Yes, Kailey, what is it?"

"I . . . well . . . never mind. I don't know why I called."

"It's quite all right Kailey. Goodbye." Mycroft set the phone back in its cradle and turned to look out the window.

It was snowing again. 256 snowflakes per second, if he wasn't mistaken, only to land on top of one another and form hydrogen bonds. And no two snowflakes were exactly alike. It boggled the mind, really.

He wondered if he should be concerned for Kailey's safety. His brother would obviously keep her safe, but to what degree? She couldn't take care of herself like John could. Maybe he should take matters into his own hands . . .

Anthea's voice came over the phone's intercom. "He's here Mr. Holmes."

"Thank you Anthea," he said, even though she couldn't hear him. He turned, stood up, and the door opened.

"Prime minister. Good to see you . . ."

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**See, I told you it was short. Maybe you could right a long review to make up for it *wink wink nudge nudge***


	26. Chapter 26

**Hi everyone! In case any of you are wondering, I won't be doing a Halloween-themed fanfic, mainly becasue I don't have the time. But, I wrote ths little chapter (featuring everyone's favorite Anderson), so consider this my Halloween treat to you.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.**

* * *

He walked into his office and rolled his neck, hearing it crack in several different places. The desk was covered in papers and there was a cup of cold coffee sitting on his desk.

It was snowing again. He didn't mind snow. It was kind of peaceful, really. He only hated it when it caused back-ups in traffic.

He had just finished interrogating O'Malley. The man had confessed, to both crimes of course, but he wasn't giving anything up about the mob, or whoever else he worked for. He was now letting Sherlock take a crack at him. If anyone could get information out of O'Malley, Sherlock could.

Lestrade looked out of the glass wall that separated his office from the rest of the unit. Kailey had plopped herself down at Anderson's desk and was playing Solitaire on his computer. He was going to have fit when he found out.

Lestrade felt so sorry for her. She had gone through so much these past few days. He was surprised that she was still holding up.

He turned back to his desk and absentmindedly picked up his coffee cup while staring out the window. He was distracted by the snow, and momentarily forgot that the coffee was cold. He took a sip. Disgusted by the lack of warm coffee, and by his forgetfulness, he dumped it into the trash can and left his office to the station coffee pot.

By this time, Anderson had appeared from wherever he had previously been and had noticed that his desk was now being occupied. By a fifteen year old girl, no less.

"Excuse me," Anderson said. "You're in my desk."

Kailey turned to look at him. "Oh." She gave him a tired and uninterested once-over. "Okay." She turned back to her Solitaire game.

"Aren't you going to move?" he asked.

"No."

Exasperated, Anderson turned and stalked over to his boss. "Make. Her. _Move_." Anderson said through gritted teeth. Lestrade glanced over his shoulder. "Ah, come now, Anderson. She's not hurting anyone." He stirred some artificial sugar into his coffee.

"But she's invading my personal space!"

"And? That desk belongs to the station. The only thing personal about that space is you belongings."

Anderson sputtered angrily for a moment before declaring "If you won't move her, I will!"

Lestrade set down his coffee cup and turned to face him. "You'll do nothin' of the sort! You touch that girl _at all_, and I'll be puttin' you on probation!"

By this time, everyone in the office had paused and was taking this scene in. Kailey looker over her shoulder with red-rimmed eyes.

"If you actually did your _job_ like you were supposed to, and didn't flooze around with Donovan, then maybe I wouldn't be talkin' to you right now!" Lestrade leaned into Anderson's face, causing him to lean back a bit. "Get back to work!"

Anderson turned and went back the way he came. He was stumbling he was trying to get away so fast. Lestarde went back to his coffee.

The detective inspector went past Kailey as he went back to his office. As he passed, he heard her snicker, and mutter "Idoit."

Lestrade had always liked Kailey. She had a lot of spunk.

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**How 'bout some reviews to make my Halloween sweeter?**

**Happy Halloween!**


	27. Chapter 27

**'Sup. This weeks chapter has soft/big-hearted! John. I hope you all enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.**

* * *

After Sherlock finished interrogating O'Malley, he, John and Kailey caught a cab back to Baker Street. Once they were in their flat, Kailey curled up on the couch, pulled the blanket up to her shoulders, and promptly fell asleep.

_Poor thing_, though John as he watched her from the kitchen. He started to fill the kettle with water for tea.

Sherlock joined him. Now that the case was more or less over, he could start to function like a normal person again. Sort of.

John set the kettle on the stove. "Hey Sherlock?"

"Hmm?" Sherlock grunted as he rummaged in the cupboards for something to eat.

"What's going to happen to her?"

"Who?"

"Kailey." John turned on the gas.

"She'll go back to the foster home, I imagine." Sherlock straightened up with a loaf of stale bread in his hand. "Do we have any milk?"

John glanced over at Kailey. "It doesn't seem right."

Sherlock snorted. "It doesn't have to be right. She was probably exaggerating the conditions anyhow; children usually do."

"Would it kill you to show a little compassion?" John twisted around to face the detective.

"No." Sherlock started from the room. "Bring me some milk if you find any," he called over his shoulder. His bedroom door closed.

The kettle whistled. John turned it off and poured it into a mug. As he dunked the teabag up and down, he watched Kailey sleep.

"Oh, Kailey," he muttered. "What are we going to do with you?"

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**Wasn't that cute? Tell me what you think via a review!**


	28. Chapter 28

**It's good to be back.**

**I know that it's been like forever wince I've updated this, but I've been really busy. If I dissappear again, and you guys are wondering what's going on, check out my profile. I will tell if I won't be updating or something like that. Just scroll down until you reach the "News" section. You can't miss it.**

**Anyway, this chapter is nice and long. Hope you enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock. The term "bloody" also appears.**

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The next morning, Kailey woke up to the sound of the telly. She opened her eyes slowly, and once everything came into focus, she saw that a news station was on. Kailey sat up. Sherlock was sitting in his chair and toying around on his computer. Or was it John's?

The flat door opened. John walked in carrying a small, brown, paper bag. "Oh hey! You're up!"

Kailey turned her head to look at him. She was squinting against the harsh winter sunlight.

"I got you a bagel from Speedy's." John set the bag on the coffee table.

Kailey watched him without registering much of anything. "Thanks," she muttered.

John stepped back and stuffed his hands into his coat pockets. He stood there awkwardly, unsure of what to do.

Donovan suddenly appeared in the doorway. She knocked on the doorframe with her knuckle to get everyone's attention. "Kailey," she said. "There's someone down at the station who wants to talk to you." She paused. "He's an American."

Kailey perked up, but then furrowed her brow. "Who is it?"

"I don't know! Now, get in the car, its bloody freezing in here!"

"Really?" Sherlock said from his chair. "I didn't notice."

"I'm fine." John said.

"Me too." Kailey shrugged into her coat.

"Ooohhhh!" Donovan groaned in exasperation. "I'm waiting in the car." She turned and stomped down the stairs.

The trio snickered.

Kailey turned to the doctor. "Are you coming?"

John gave her a sad smile. "No; I have to work."

"What about you, Sherlock?" Kailey turned around to look at him.

Sherlock closed his laptop. "I have nothing better to do." He set the laptop on the floor and jumped up, pulling his scarf from the back of his chair. He started to tie it around his neck.

"Do you want me to call you after I talk to the guy?" Kailey asked John as Sherlock put on his coat.

"No, no, it's fine. You can tell me when I get back." John smiled.

Sherlock walked up and stood next to Kailey. John couldn't help but mentally list the differences between the two.

"Ready to go?" Sherlock asked, giving the orphan an aloof look.

"Yeah." They started toward the door.

"Donovan hates it if you kick the back of her seat."

"Okay!"

John sighed. As much as he tried to keep Sherlock out of trouble, he wasn't always successful.

Lestrade heard the trio arrive well before he saw them. Donovan was yelling about something, Sherlock was making witty, observational comments, and Kailey . . . well, he didn't hear Kailey. But he assumed that she was there.

"Uhhhh!" Donovan burst into the office and stalked over to her desk. Kailey pushed her way forward and jogged up to Lestrade's office. She gasped with pleasure when she saw who was waiting for her. "Mike!"

The man was white, and in his mid-forties. He was wearing a black overcoat on top of his charcoal gray suit. He smiled when he was Kailey and pulled her into a hug.

"Hey girl!" How are you? Are you feeling all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." She pulled away. "Oh, Mike? This is Sherlock Holmes; he's been letting me stay with him and his flat mate."

"Hi." Mike extended his hand. "Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet _you_." Sherlock shook his hand, and looked Mike up and down. He developed a small, crooked smile, the kind that he got when he knew something.

Mike, however, didn't notice it. "Well," he said. "Let's go inside, shall we?"

Kailey sat down inside Lestrade's office while Sherlock shut the door. Kailey clasped her hands together in her lap. "So. What's up?"

"Kailey," Mike began. Kailey turned to face him. "I haven't been very truthful to you. After you sent me that e-mail, it got me thinking." Mike pulled out a brown envelope and set it on Lestrade's desk. "You're dad made this a few months before he died. He put it in a safe box and gave me one of the keys. He told me to give it to you when the time was right." Mike pushed the envelope toward her. "I think it's that time."

Kailey furrowed her brow. She grabbed the envelope and tore it open, pulling out the contents.

After a moment, she gasped.

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**Oooohhhhh! Cliffhanger! What do you think it is? Tell me and review!**


	29. Chapter 29

**Surprise! Weekday update!**

**Sorry I haven't psoted in a little bit. Life keeps getting in the way.**

**On with the story!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.**

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"John! John!"

"What Kailey? I'm busy, I'm at work."

"I'm rich John! Rich!"

There was a scuffling sound over the phone. John heard a muffled "Give it back!" and then Sherlock's voice. "Kailey's father made a will."

"Ah."

"In it, he left his survivors the family estates in California and Brazil. His wife and children would have shared it equally, but since Kailey is the only one left, it's deferred to her."

"Well, that's . . . lucky."

Sherlock snorted. "Luck has nothing to do with it."

Kailey grabbed the phone back. "Do you want me to but you anything?"

"What?"

Sherlock had the phone back now. "He father also left her a large inheritance."

"Oh. Well, tell her not to buy me anything. Listen Sherlock, I gotta go; I have clients waiting."

"I'll see you later tonight," said Sherlock.

"Bye John!" yelled Kaiely.

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**Read and review, please!**


	30. Chapter 30

**Wow. This is the thirtith chapter. This is the longest thing I've ever written. I am so proud of myself right now. And of you guys, for sticking with it for this long. **

**Enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.**

* * *

When John got back to Baker Street from work, Sherlock was sitting in his chair. He had turned it so that it faced the door.

"Hello John."

"Hi Sherlock. What are you doing?"

"I'm giving Kailey fashion advice."

"You're what?"

There was a rapid succession of thumping coming down from John's room. Kailey was wearing a brand new outfit, one that suited the summer weather more than winter.

"Hi John!" she said cheerfully.

"Heeeeyyyy, Kailey!" John gave a once over. "You look great!"

"Thanks! Sherlock helped me pick them out!" Kailey pranced into the parlor. "How's this, Sherlock?"

Sherlock was quite for a moment. "Nice."

"You like it?"

Sherlock nodded.

"Yeaaa!" Kailey jumped up and down and clapped like a little kid. John had never seen her so happy.

"So, is this all you bought?" he asked, tossing his coat onto the arm of his chair.

"No; there's more upstairs." Kailey gasped with inspiration. "I'll go get it!" She ran out of the room and thundered back up the stairs.

"So." John leaned on the arm of his chair. "_You_ took her shopping?"

"Yes. Or rather, _she _went shopping, and I followed after her."

"But – she said that you helped her pick out her clothes."

"I gave her some guidance, yes."

Kailey came down the stairs with an armload of brightly colored clothes. Some still had the tags attached.

"Wow! Is this all you bought?" John asked, feigning surprise.

"Most of it. There's some still upstairs." Kailey shifted the items in her arms. "I needed to save some money for my plane ticket."

"Plane ticket?" John looked at Sherlock, then back at Kailey. "Where are you going?"

"To Rio. That's where our other house is." Kailey said. "Dad left it to me." She looked back and forth between the two men. "Where else am I going to stay?"

_You could stay with here,_ thought John. But he kept quiet.

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**The talents of Sherlock know no bounds. **


	31. Chapter 31

**Merry Christmas Eve Day everyone!**

**So, obviously, I'm not doing a Christmas fic this year, but I do plan to post tomorrow. Consider it your Chirstmas gift.**

**Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.**

* * *

Mycroft stopped by the flat later that night. He found that Kailey had showered, changed, and was now sprawled out on the floor on her stomach. She was reading something on her laptop.

"Hello, Kailey."

Kailey looked over her shoulder. "Hi Mycroft." She turned back to her laptop.

Mycroft walked in. "Already booked your plane ticket, I see."

"Yeah. I leave Wednesday." Kailey turned to look up at Mycroft, who was standing over her. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to wish you well." Mycroft smiled. "And to assure you that you'll be well protected in Rio."

"What d'you mean?"

"You saw a job done by the mob. They'll be after you now."

Kailey stared at him for a minute, and then yelled "Joohhnnn! Mycroft's scarring me again!"

John appeared from seemingly out of nowhere. "Mycroft, I thought I told you to stop doing that."

"I'm just telling her the truth."

John looked down at Kailey. "Don't listen to him," he said, and walked into the kitchen.

Kailey smiled a smug smile and turned her attention back to the contents on her laptop.

Mycroft followed John. "You've become quite attached to her, haven't you?" he asked in a low voice.

"Yeah, you could say that."

Mycroft was silent for a minute. "I wasn't lying when I said she could be next. There is a slim chance–"

"_Slim_ chance," said John, who turned to face Mycroft with a silent challenge. "She'll be fine." He looked over at Kailey on the floor, and went back to making tea.


	32. Chapter 32

**Wow. I am sooooooooo sorry for not updating when I said I would. I feel really bad. Please forgive me.**

**Anyway, I wrote an extra-long chapter to make up for it. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.**

* * *

When Wednesday rolled around, Kailey was already packed and ready to leave. Her make-shift bed on the sofa had already been dismantled by the time John was up, and her breakfast dishes were in the sink.

She had an hour before she had to leave.

John stood with her in the parlor, a bit awkwardly since they weren't completely ready to say goodbye. Mrs. Hudson, however, was.

"Goodbye, dearie," she said, pulling Kailey into a hug. "I hope you have a good time in Rio. I have a cousin who lives there; you should look him up. His name is-"

John cleared his throat.

"Oh, well." Mrs. Hudson glanced at John, and then pulled out a zip-top bag. "I made some biscuits for the trip, in case you get hungry."

Neither John nor Kailey mentioned that Kailey would get fed on the plane, nor did they express the thought that they might get confiscated at security. Instead, Kailey smiled and said "Thank you Mrs. Hudson. I love them." She gave the landlady a hug.

Mrs. Hudson patted Kailey's cheek and left. Kailey started to poke around in her carry-on bag, looking for a place to hide her treats.

Someone knocked on the doorframe. "Hullo?"

Kailey turned around and smiled when she saw who it was. "Hi Lestrade!"

"Hey, Kailey." Lestrade slowly walked into the flat. "Hi John."

"Hello Inspector."

"So, today's the big day, huh?"

"Yep," said Kailey.

"Where are you going again?"

"Rio de Janerio. It's in Brazil."

"Right, that's right." Lestarde looked down at his toes. "Well, some folks down at the station and I, we all chipped in and got you somethin'." He handed Kailey a small, wrapped box.

Kailey opened it up and gasped in surprise when she saw what it was. It was a white coffee mug, with the words "Scotland Yard" emblematized in black on side.

"I love it!" Kailey hugged the detective inspector. "Thank you!" After letting go, she went to find a spot in her carry-on.

Sherlock wandered in from his room. He tossed a wary glare over at the trio. He turned into the kitchen. "Mycroft's not here yet?"

"He already said goodbye." Kailey said.

Sherlock grunted and opened the door to the fridge. "We're out of milk."

There was a pause. Lestrade broke it. "How're you getting to the airport?"

"I'm taking a cab." Kailey said.

"Is anyone going with you?"

"No." Kailey looked at Lestrade quizzically. "You guys can't get in past the front doors anyway. I'll be fine, I've done this before."

Sherlock slammed a cabinet door shut in the kitchen.

"Well," Kailey said, glancing at the clock. "I guess I better get going. Customs is going to take a while."

She zipped her carry-on bag shut. She then said her final goodbyes and exchanged hugs with John and Letrade. She shrugged into her coat.

"Sherlock," John said. "Aren't you going to say goodbye to Kailey?'

Sherlock looked at her and rolled his eyes. He stepped into the parlor.

"Goodbye Kailey. I enjoyed having you here – Oof!"

Sherlock looked down at the teenager who had latched herself around his waist like some sort of parasite. John gave the pair a sad smile. Lestrade hid his smile behind his hand.

Sherlock stifled the urge to push her away and instead patted her awkwardly on the shoulder. Kailey released him.

Kailey brushed away some tears. "Sorry," she muttered.

Sherlock said nothing.

"Well," Kailey sighed. "I better go." She finished buttoning up her coat and grabbed her stuff. "Bye everyone." Kailey walked out of the flat and down the stairs.

The three men stood there in silence for a moment. "I'm goin' miss that girl." Lestrade said.

"Yeah." John said.

Sherlock pulled out his gun and started to shoot the wall.

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**Reveiws would be nice after a long absence.**


	33. Chapter 33

**Well, this is it guys. This is the end.**

**I want to thank GoForTehGig, Harriate Slate-Res-Hari-Agnew, stardiva, sebastienflyte, Kadayana Karaiko, Rouge Singer, TheValencia, ohdidshenow, and renewraw for reviewing, following, andfavoriting this stroy. I also want to thank everyone else who read this, but didn't do any of those things. I hope you enjoyed it.**

**On with the show.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.**

* * *

A few days later, Sherlock was bored and was back to texting. Clad in his pajamas and his bathrobe, he had taken over the sofa again, now that the teenager had left.

To: John Watson  
From: Sherlock Holmes  
We're still out of milk.

To: Sherlock Holmes  
From: John Watson  
I know. I just picked some up.

To: John Watson  
From: Sherlock Holmes  
And beans?

To: Sherlock Holmes  
From: John Watson  
Yes, I got those too.

To: John Watson  
From: Sherlock Holmes  
And eggs?

To: Sherlock Holmes  
From: John Watson  
You know what? From now on, you do your own grocery shopping!

To: Sherlock Holmes  
From: Kailey Williams  
Hi Sherlock!

To: Kailey Williams  
From: Sherlock Holmes  
You forgot something, didn't you?

To: Sherlock Holmes  
From: Kailey Williams  
Yeah. How did you know?

To: Kailey Williams  
From: Sherlock Holmes  
You haven't called, e-mailed or texted John or I for the past few days, most likely because you're getting settled. Since you don't have time for idle chatter, you're texting me to see if you left something here.

To: Sherlock Holmes  
From: Kailey Williams  
Wow.

To: Sherlock Holmes  
From: John Watson  
Okay, I got eggs. Do you need anything else?

To: John Watson  
From: Sherlock Holmes  
Tea. And none of that Lipton stuff, either.

To: Sherlock Holmes  
From: Kailey Williams  
I think I left my toothbrush there. Could you check it out for me?

To: Sherlock Holmes  
From: John Watson  
I'll see what I can do.

Sherlock leaned over the arm of the sofa. "Mrs. Hudson!" he called. When she didn't come up the stairs, he resumed texting.

To: John Watson  
From: Sherlock Holmes  
Do you know if Kailey left her toothbrush in our flat?

To: Sherlock Holmes  
From: John Watson  
I don't think so.

To: Kailey Williams  
From: Sherlock Holmes  
I don't see it.

To: Sherlock Holmes  
From: John Watson  
Oh wait! She did leave it here! I almost used it this morning.

To: Kailey Williams  
From: Sherlock Holmes  
Never mind, I see it. Do you want me to ship it to you?

To: Sherlock Holmes  
From: Kailey Williams  
No, it's fine. I just needed to know. Thanks, Sherlock!

To: Sherlock Holmes  
From: John Watson  
Well, I got the groceries. Unlock the door for me, will you?

To: John Watson  
From: Sherlock Holmes  
Sure.

In order to unlock the door, Sherlock would have to get up off the sofa, walk across the flat, and go down the stairs and across the threshold to the front door.

Well, he certainly wasn't going to do it.

* * *

**Review or PM me with your comments. I plan to move to another fandom, though I'm not sure which one yet. I'm open to suggestions, but there's no garentees that I'll write for it next.**

**I hope you guys enjoyed _Snow_. Thanks for reading.**


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